This is Berk
From beyond the dark, enormous ocean, on which crashed just as same tremendous, strong waves, rose up an island, with sharp, rock corners, and greenish grass, shrouded in a thin fog, at which center grew up the massive mountain. At its surface seeable were houses, made out of wood, stone, and ornamental coating as well as illustrations; each one outstanding for its look, however, also unprecedented, surprising freshness and newness.
On the dirt roads, lit up by the bright sun, in between alleys having their place in between the various buildings, emerged people, each wearing something as warm as the furs were, nearly everyone maintaining some metal weaponry with themselves. Amongst the adults and elders, running were the kids, with miniature versions of weapons, matching the ones upheld by their parents, screaming at the top of their lungs, while their voices were drowned out by the shouting of grown-ups themselves.
In the midst of the inhabited homes, had their place a lot of facilities, which were designed to serve villagers, such as a forge, enclosed by various metal tools, a market, surrounded by stalls that were filled with miscellaneous foods, and even docks, the ideal for fishing, either taking a boat for the ride. Even for their rather large amount, neither one soul could've been found in there, while most of the island's habitats gathered by the stone opening, having its spot on the very outskirts of the village.
The arena, which that place was, was enveloped by the sounds of the striking chains, which were overlapping its top, crowds' yelling - their laughing, and screaming - but also roars, bloodcurdling, terrifying roars, to which they nohow reacted, being the Vikings they were. Everyone's eyes, those who were just beyond the edge, dividing the chain wall and the decline, leading to the immense, gravel opening, were fixed on the impenetrable insides, observing the situation occurring there.
The place that I would call my home, if it ever was it
Amid them, stood out one certain figure, belonging to the man, as tall as the statue, as hard as the one was, the posture of Viking, not one of the men would be envious of, wearing the helmet possessing the curled horns, the greatest from the everybody's present. Knitting his reddish brown brows at the front, he crossed his broad arms, hardening his expression, not even flinching when before his eyes appeared the beast, containing a pair of humongous wings and fang-full jaw, which view didn't move him.
The creature was a dragon, coated by light blue and yellow scales, glaring with its yellow eyes at everybody present, standing straight on its two, legs that end with sharp claws, extending widely its wings to demonstrate its dominance, which in the case of being surrounded by the dozens of attackers, didn't exist. At each sound made, at each racket, shout, exclamation, the spikes, having their spot on the mentioned animal's tail, would raise, causing it to be permanently in the ready; some of them the dragon would send at the people, each time missing by an inch.
At some point, its eyes traveled to the right, and just the same, did the eyes of the man, who could now drill his eyes into the woman taking the stand there, in one of her hands holding a sword, while the other rigidly clung on the wooden, painted shield. She didn't have the looks of a typical Viking, bearing an abnormally thin silhouette and laughable height, although she didn't mind the comments about it made behind her back, currently taking strands of her auburn bangs off her face, brushing it away with the side of her hand, while the dark green color of her eyes locked at the creature closed in the arena with her.
Eventually, one of the criticisms was loud enough, that it got to her ears, and ornery enough, that she must have scowled at the speaking out man, barking something in his direction, making the mistake of taking attention from the dragon. Watching that man, whose scarlet beard appeared to tangle under his touch, clenched his jaw as he scratched his chin in between the thicket of the hair, shaking his head disappointed, hoping the woman would glimpse it with the side of her eye, at least.
The place of cold, cruelness, misery, pain
As he desired must have happened, because at once, the shame crossed the woman's face, when after being impacted in the stone wall by the same dragon she was previously unaware of, she attempted to wriggle out of the trap, as the spikes thrust in her cloth and kept her against the stone. In the final, she would get free, but afterward, she had to avoid the fire blast which was shot straight into her, and which she dodged, leaping to the ground, receiving many laughs from the public, at which sound the irritation transformed her face.
and, of course, dragons
Seeing that all, the man wiped his eyelids with his soiled palm as he mumbled, "This child'll be the death of me," not predicting the response, which he received, unexpectedly.
"Nah, ye're overreactin', Stoic."
Almost immediately, the quoted man gazed with his eyes at the owner of the voice, and glimpsing the man, whose blond eyebrow lifted at him, he groaned, thereafter sensing as the wooden, hand prosthetic resisted itself on his back. As the second man inched nearer to him, knocking with the same material prosthetic of his leg on the ground, he poked Stoic's back, reassuringly, the blue of his eyes never leaving the arena, before he continued.
"The lad's tryin' her best, and she's gettin' better," he stated, the smile growing on his face, catching the sight of the mentioned woman getting up. "From what I remember, last year she couldn't even hold a sword, for sake!"
"That's an achievement for ya, Gobber?" Stoic inquired, narrowing his eyes at the woman who bypassed another of the shots, barely. "I've no idea what to do with her, anymore."
"Ye're prejudgin', as always anyway, but if ya'd managed to find some patience for her, she'd have surprised ya," Gobber spotted, the bitterness crossing his face when Stoic dodged his sight, lifting his chin. "Maybe, she'd achieve somethin' more, if she'd got a little more of support."
"Support," Stoic snorted at his words, turning up the corner of his mouth, amused. "'s enough that she's embarrassin' me. I won't be praisin' her for that."
"I'm not sayin' that ya should," Gobber responded, drawing away from him, the concern clouding his features. "However, ya should-,"
"Hiccup should fight her own battles herself," Stoic interrupted him ultimately, glowering at him with the side of his dark, green eye. "Nobody else will do that for her."
Hearing so, afterward, Gobber only nodded, and sighed, "Ay, chief," as the both men returned their whole attention to the scene occurring in the arena.
Currently, the woman, using the dragon's lack of focus on her, which centered on some kids, hitting it with the small stones, set some kind of trap, not very complicated, as it was just a widely tensioned rope, at which sight she earned not just one critique. Despite this, she ignored every word of it, gaining Stoic's respect, shown by the growth of his grin, which even brightened, when the giant monster fell to the ground, losing consciousness after tripping, whacking his head on the stone, but also, after Hiccup smacked her shield against it.
That itself provoked a wave of noisy cheering what hearing, Hiccup straightened, her chest shaking with the panting of hers, although halting suddenly, when the applause changed in the exhorting, bloody exhorting to kill. Her eyes instantly turned to the dragon at her legs, slowly recovering its awareness, while her arms shook, before her eyes shut firmly, not daring herself to even glance at anything else, but the darkness under her lids.
Stoic knew that reaction - she would make it any time being near killing, any time being near becoming a true warrior - so, he also knew what was about to happen next, and his hands fisted at the realization of that. As he foresaw, took place, and as Hiccup dropped her weapon, also her defense to the ground, gathering the groans around, even the laughter when the dragon arose and chased her shortly after, Stoic could only sigh, defeated.
"Nothin', fuckin', new," he muttered, sensing how Gobber shrunk in the same shame and defeat he had, to which he could only internally laugh. "Get her out of there!" he ordered, already feeling some of the lampooning glances at himself, that would continue for the rest of his month. "Finish that humiliation," he whispered, glaring at the woman, who returned his gaze as she was leaving the arena, drowning in shame.
It was already somewhere around half an hour that Stoic, with his daughter, turned up in their household, although not once through that entire time, not one word would come in between them, as the two remained silent. Hence, the only sound around that would fill the room in which they were currently, was the crackle of the sparkles over the fireplace in the center, the screech of the metal being scratched against the metal, as Stoic would sharpen the axe in his grasp, and the occasional whistle of the wind from between the crack of the main door.
As for the room itself, it wasn't the largest, although rather extensive for the Vikings' standards, having the mentioned fire, with some pot hung over it, the wooden table in the corner, next to which visible were baskets completed with various food - fish, and bread mainly - and a wooden kind of throne, on which the landlord settled, currently. To the ahead of him, his daughter, Hiccup, had her spot on the bench, half covered by the gray, quite rough, fur blanket, which rubbed her hand that gripped onto it, rather firmly.
The woman refused to look at her father and instead kept her eyes fixed on the fire, while it reflected in her eyes, and she attempted to hide her embarrassment, but her efforts were in vain as the man could easily see through her facade. After all, her squeezed-together knees, the way she stroked her hands together, and her startled gaze that avoided any contact with him were no signs of the flooding out of her confidence or pride.
As for him, Stoic leaned himself on the throne's back, relying the silver, sharp axe on his knee, his stare concentrated at it, periodically ricocheting at her, the irritation overtaking his features, without even the hint of the joy on them. The conversation awaited them - they understood that both, not a brief while ago, although not one being enthusiastic to begin it, until sensing the spasm in her hand, Hiccup, although hesitant at first, decided on it.
Inhaling, she straightened her back, her eyes locking timidly on Stoic, as she started, "Dad-," not being able to proceed, when he cut in, harshly.
"Why ye're bein' like this?" he asked, the frowned brows betraying his disappointment, as he lifted his scowl at her. "The only thin', I ask ya for, is to stop that behavior, that disgrace! Am I demandin' for too much? Tell me, do I?"
The response didn't escape her mouth, but instead, she hung her head, as she apologized, "I'm sorry," mashing her palms to redness.
"Yers I'm sorry won't erase the impression of the chief who can't handle his daughter ye've shed on me," he remarked, crossing his arms on his chest and closing up the expression on his face. "Either way, ya'd better tell me, why ye're doin' that to me? What's the reason?"
"There's none," she clarified, her unnerved eyes linking to his vexed ones. "I'm just not meant to kill, as ya'd like me to," she added, and then, as she lifted her head, she dared herself to say, "In fact, I'd like myself to be put off the trainin'."
"Put off the trainin'?" he quoted her, and as she nodded at him, reaffirming that, he snickered, amused. "Not a chance," he stated and brought up his palm when she made a try to oppose. "Hiccup, ye're Viking; ye're outright demanded to fight, and that's what the trainin' is about. Ye're about to become chiefness, how do ya count on bein' one if ya can't fight like the actual one?"
Nobody said that I counted on that, she thought to herself; glimpsing her father's testy stare, concerned if the man could've heard that. "'s not the combat itself I have problem with, but the killin'."
"That's because ye're not warlike enough for it."
Hearing that, indignation crossed her face, and she disagreed, "That's not it! I just ain't want to kill," ending her statement with a confession.
"The twenty years is the time when ya should cut a slack of that excuse," he pointed out, stroking with his fingers the wrinkles of his forehead. "Understand, either ya'll kill, at last, or people might outcast ya, havin' no intention of retainin' such a chief. Everythin' I do is for ya not endin' like this, for creatin' a good future for ya."
"Maybe, I ain't need that idea of my future," Hiccup declared, shifting her eyes to the side, lessening her lids. "Maybe, I ain't care for that idea of my future."
"Namely, ya ain't want that idea, 's alright," he approved, standing up gravely, as Hiccup gazed at him, askance. "Allow me then, to propose ya the other one: marriage."
"Marriage?" she queried, narrowing her eyes at him, confused. "To whom?"
"To someone of my choice," Stoic answered, and glimpsing how his daughter's eyes widened furiously, he spotted, turning up the corner of his mouth. "After all, we know both, ya have no taste in men, moreover, the potential of the profitable leadin'."
At once, Hiccup stood up, her brows cocked in the rage fuming out of her, as she muttered, "Ya'd not do that to me," her eyes darting, mindlessly.
"Why not? That's the actual best variety for ya," Stoic pressed, giving her once-over, when she nohow soothed at his words. "At long last, ya'll have no necessity to train, yer husband will put up with everythin', ya'll just be required to be his wife."
"Ay, the wife of some shady-lookin' individual," Hiccup noticed, drawing nearer to Stoic, who only rolled his eyes, grounding his jaw. "The wife of such a Thruggory, maybe even Dagur! How even ya dare to suggest that!"
"For I must!" Stoic shouted, tensing his fingers at the level of their faces, the wrath transforming his face. "For I must, handle ya because ye're leavin' me no other choice!"
"No, ye're leavin' me no other choice!" Hiccup yelled, throwing her arms, and pointing at him, her eyes burning with betrayal. "Give me some other choice!"
"Change!" Stoic bellowed, resulting in the dead near silence that encircled them, throughout which he managed to settle down his senses. "Change yer ways, kill somethin', act like a Viking who everyone expects ya to be, and there won't be any unfair declarations from me; ya'll do anythin' ya'll like."
"Anythin' I'll like," Hiccup repeated suspiciously, boring her eyes into him, crossing her arms over her stomach. "Define that."
"What's here to define?" Stoic snorted, lifting his arms and explaining, "The future will be yers. Whatever ya'll like to do, ya will, if ya satisfy my requirements," he finished, before stepping toward her and conveying his hand in between them. "Deal?"
Before proceeding with anything else, Hiccup stared at his large hand in the air, on the level of her stomach, and ensured, "If I enhance myself, nobody will ever have leverage over my life," drilling her eyes into the man.
"Exactly," he confirmed, and sensing the grasp of her hand on his, he added, "Good luck."
There was no response from her, she would just stink an eye at him, before, as they released each other's palms, she drew away, gazing with her eyes somewhere to the farther part of the house, as she gripped her wrist. At the sight of so, Stoic shook his head, resisting his hand on his sides, while doing that, catching the view of the sunset from beyond the hole in the wooden wall, which their window was.
Thus, grunting and straightening at the spot, he reminded, "Ya should go. There's work to do," and receiving Hiccup's questioning glance, as he pointed with his chin to the sky, he observed how the realization transformed her face.
"Aye," she agreed, rather quickly grabbing the leather apron, having some blacksmith tools hidden in its manifold pockets, and as she was about to vanish behind the door, she farewelled. "I'll see ya."
"Wait a moment," Stoic stopped her, halting her in the frame of it, as he settled down on his previous spot on the throne, and stated. "The deal doesn't have any deadline, although, if I were ya, I would hurry up. Do ya hear me?" he asked, and as Hiccup nodded, afterward, being lost in sight behind the wooden surface, he turned his attention to the axe, and sighed, for a moment more staring at his reflection in it.
The night that came over the island of Berk, enveloped it with darkness, denoting the moon as the brightest source of light, the animals as the noisiest sound makers, and the wind, as the bringer of the coolness. The perfect time for some Dragon raid, one could say, although once there were no murderous roars of these creatures, nor the bellowing of the Vikings battling them, it could've implied otherwise.
Hence, taking advantage of that actuality, somewhere beyond the dark forest, having its location by the village, at the cliff that arose over the turbulent ocean, Hiccup had her resting site, where she currently was. Laying with her back on the grass, covered by the freezing dew, her legs dangling over the edge of the raising, which she would swing occasionally, she stared upright, at the stars enlightening the whole black sky.
These tiny dots would always put her at peace, no matter the trouble she would stumble upon, reminding her of the insignificance of her negligible life for the world, and thus, the triviality of each her, even the most immense problem. If she flashed to the right, she would've seen a captivating display of the northern lights, illuminated with shades of blue and green, which she would usually be delighted to observe, but not today - today she desired not beauty, but the stars.
Today, there was furthermore about them, an aspect reminder, that would always outweigh any issue, any matter, although not by its wellness, but rather due to the extreme tragedy of it, which would induce any difficulty to be meaningless, but also, robbing her out of any will she had toward living, simultaneously. At some point, she sat up, her eyes blankly staring at the ocean, swaying, blown by the sea breeze, before shutting her eyes, she allowed the gravitation to claim her, as she leaned forward and her body plummeted straight ahead to the ocean.
The wind slammed her face, the heartbeat in her chest stopped, and the thoughts in her head fastened, but neither of those she was in need of, neither of those would come in handy in this regard, neither of those could explain the impossible reality. As she felt the gain in speed, she dared herself to open a gap in her eyes, squirming them bitterly, and when her body was shoved to the side by the blown of wind, she understood that it was a time, and afterward, nothing made any sense.
In one moment, she sensed how her eyes narrowed in the slits and how her skin was covered with black scales. In one moment, she felt how her bones modified in their size and how new ones arose on her back. In one moment, she experienced, how her fingers prolonged and how her nails sharpened. In one moment, she was herself, a human, and in the other, she was not.
It had been five years, that passed, since she managed to capture the black monster, a dragon whose scales matched the color of the sky, what was supposed to earn her father's, and whole village's, approval, at last. It had been five years, that passed, since she came across it, and since she held a dagger above its heart, devised for quick finalizing its life. It had been five years, that passed, since she released it, receiving only the scars, which ran through the bottom of her collarbone, and a roar bestowed straight into her face. It had been five years, that passed, since the same monster cursed her in the cruelest manner imaginable - by transforming her into one itself.
Ultimately, when that mentioned change was completed, she extended her dark green, dragon eyes on the world, and unfurled her wings, as these combated the strength of the wind itself, much ineffectively, as the dragonness would still be falling. Unsettled, she made an effort to use any of the advantages that body had, her wings - unmanageable under the influence of the blowing, her tail - too heavy to even mention as the benefit, her paws - useless to begin with; she hoped that her lungs would be some help, at last, when she smashed into the surface of the ocean.
It wasn't long before she reached the shore, although it was more of the waves' work, which would propel her drifting body toward it, and when she did, she collapsed on the sand, panting, twisting her face, rather of hearing her usual breathing, listening to the dragon one. Finally, she managed to stand up, as she altered back into her normal self, and when she did, she gazed toward the horizon, beyond the line that crossing she desired so badly, sighing when she understood that desire was unreachable.
Goodbye, freedom - that was her last thought when choosing between the path to the top of the cliff, and the way to her village, glancing from one to the other, alas, she selected the second.